Louise Cooper by The Sleep of Stone

Author:The Sleep of Stone
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-06-04T18:44:24+00:00

She was ready. Trembling with sick nerves, keyed up with mingled terror and excitement to the point where she thought she must surely shatter into a thousand pieces; but ready. And not once had her disguise slipped, not once had the women who flapped about her like hens in a coop suspected that anything was remotely amiss. The gown, a wonderful creation of silk and lace and tiny pearls, had been fastened about her, silk shoes had been slipped on to her feet, and her golden hair had been brushed and combed and braided and looped before finally the silver chaplet adorned with flowers was set upon her head like a crown and the lace veil draped over it to cover her face and frame her in mystery as though she were a goddess. Radiant, her cheeks flushed, she smiled dazzlingly as the women exclaimed over her. Then, through the window which they had opened to let in the fresh morning air, she heard a sound that set her heart racing and rushing within her. The sound of a joyful, clamorous carillon, as all the bells in the harbor town began to ring out in celebration of her marriage day.

The door of the bedchamber opened, and Raerche and Maiv stood upon the threshold.

“Sivorne!” Raerche came forward to embrace her, and was clucked at by the women who were anxious that the wonderful bridal gown shouldn’t be crumpled. In the background Maiv, resplendent in crimson and with jewels in her hair, smiled proudly and dabbed at her eyes.

“They are waiting, child,” Raerche told her. “Are you ready?”

Ghysla nodded, barely able to speak for the dry-ness of her throat. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes … Father.”

She laid her arm over his as she had seen the real Sivorne do at the rehearsal, and slowly, solemnly, they set off down the spiral steps and along the passage to the main staircase. They reached the top of the flight, and Ghysla saw that there were people waiting below; Aronin, six young girls dressed in green, a group of musicians, and a tall, thin stooped man in a brown robe which she recognized as the garb of a priest of the humans’ new gods. Involuntarily her hand tightened on Raerche’s arm, and he patted her fingers reassuringly. Then they were descending, her legs threatening to give way under her with every step, and as they reached the flagstoned floor the musicians raised their instruments and struck up a slow, stately tune. The bridal procession formed up; the priest at its head, Aronin following, then Ghysla, flanked by Raerche and Maiv, and lastly the six young girls like a flowing wave in their wake. Then the doors of the great hall were thrown open from within, spilling out a blaze of torchlight. Ghysla had a momentary, dazzling impression of a great throng of people turning to stare at her, their fine clothes a sea of brilliant color, and of a seemingly endless blue-carpeted aisle stretching straight as a moonshaft ahead.

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